


One More Time

by constellationqueen



Series: aftg but slightly to the left [1]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Volleyball AU, it's the same thing but they're playing a different game, might make this into a series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:14:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,429
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21722068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/constellationqueen/pseuds/constellationqueen
Summary: After Renee is pulled out of a game due to illness, Andrew is swapped in to play setter. The only problem is that he's the Foxes' libero, and he's only ever set to Kevin during night practice. It takes an incredible amount of trust between a setter and a spiker to get a point in, but Andrew's struggling a little less than he thought he would thanks to a certain volleyball idiot.
Relationships: Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Series: aftg but slightly to the left [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1581394
Comments: 19
Kudos: 113





	One More Time

The ball comes over the net, cleanly past Andrew’s head. Despite his lack of motivation, his hours and years of training tell him to go for it, to stick his arms out and get low and move in for the receive. But for the first time in his life, he’s on the front line, and putting up impossible serves is no longer his job. He stays still, hands loose at his sides, and just watches the ball.

The world always slows down when he’s on the court, like movements through water. He feels the vibrations through his feet, sees the motions of his teammates as both blurry shapes and sharp images. For idiots like Kevin and Neil, he imagines that everything speeds up. All they care about is spiking the ball, touching it as much as they can, and to do that they need to run. They get hyped, they get high off the weight of the ball smacking into their palm, they flood with adrenaline after the success of a clean kill. Andrew imagines it’s just a chase for them – greyhounds running after a cloth rabbit.

But for Andrew, only his thoughts move that fast.

“Aaron!”

“Got it!”

Aaron hasn’t played libero since early last year, even though the color of his uniform proclaims him as such. Except for the first couple games when Andrew hadn’t quite figured out his medication rotation, Andrew’s been the main libero for the Foxes since their freshman year. But Aaron’s knees give way and his heels take his balance like he’s played the whole set and then some. It’s not a natural talent, but it’s far from indifference. Andrew’s watched him practice, and he’s never fallen behind.

The ball goes up, and Andrew moves from the center front, watching the curve, the spin, working through in his mind how his fingers are going to have to be splayed to catch it. This is different from practice, when Kevin would just toss the ball before going in for the spike, but Andrew’s played libero his whole life; he knows how to catch a ball. His body moves, and his mind keeps spinning three steps ahead.

He knows what positions the other team – the Cavaliers – started in, heavy in the front as they prepare to block, but maintaining two receivers on the back line for any balls that might make it through.

The Foxes are in a good defense rotation, which means that their front line is a little lacking, prepared for blocking and not necessarily ready for any powerful spikes. But Kevin’s already moved up from the back right into a more central location, prepared to use the non-dominant hand he’s been strengthening all summer for a back attack. Kevin runs first tempo, and he likes a toss high enough that he can see over the blockers and get a read on the layout of the other team.

Nicky’s taken a step back from the net, ready for a block receive if it should be needed.

Matt seems ready, too, set up to the far right in a position that would let him pull off quite the wipe if he got through. He’s a strong spiker, but he has a bad habit of jumping too close to the net, and his long arms make straights a challenge. He knows the toss likely isn’t going up for him given his position and its relation to Kevin’s, but he’s ready to jump anyway. Andrew knows from watching Renee that Matt prefers his tosses high and tight, and half of a hand length ahead of what could be considered standard. He also runs first tempo, and the fact that he’s hit in a few points over the course of the game means there’s a blocker on him – that’s one less on Kevin.

And then there’s Neil, who isn’t waiting for Andrew’s toss and has already taken off, racing up to the net from the back end of the ten foot line, angling himself in the wide open right side. He’s trying his hardest to get a blocker to chase him, but he hasn’t hit a spike the whole match, and he’s no longer serving his purpose as a decoy.

He runs at minus tempo.

It’s no wonder Renee can’t properly set to him, and it’s no wonder he can’t trust Renee to give him the toss he needs. Most people would say that Neil should adapt to Renee – hell, Wymack already yelled at him to slow down – but in volleyball it’s the spiker who takes charge of the attack. It’s the spiker fighting in the air for every point. The setter’s job is to make sure the spiker has good footing when they take off.

Renee refused to back down from the challenge in practice, but today she didn’t seem to trust her tosses enough. Her fever and chest cold may have had something to do with it. Her holy high horse lost them the first match, but Andrew made a promise and a trade with Wymack.

The second match is theirs.

Andrew’s never set to Neil, has never set to anyone other than Kevin, but the reckless idiot has already jumped, and he’s wide open.

Maybe.

The ball settles on Andrew’s fingertips, and he cradles it for only a moment before firing it off at Neil. It’s a fast toss – too fast, really, but there’s no other choice. He has to get the ball to a fool who’s already in the air.

With a smack, Neil’s palm connects with the ball, and it collides with the floor in the massive gap in the Cavaliers’ defense.

For the first time all day, the supports for the Cavaliers fall quiet, a string of unsettled murmurs the only thing trickling down to the court. Words of disbelief come in from the Foxes’ own sparse supporters, too, and it feels like every person around Andrew has suddenly leaned in for a closer look. On the side lines, Wymack is on his feet fast enough that Andrew’s eyes move to him for a second, just to make sure he stays where he’s supposed to be. And then his gaze goes back to Neil, whose back is to Andrew, head bent enough that Andrew can see the red roots escaping the dyed brown of his hair.

But the stunned silence only lasts for a few breaths, and then the Foxes start yelling, going crazy over a play they weren’t expecting. Phrases like “what the fuck was that” and “holy shit” punctuate the general chorus of excitement, a one syllable sound that keeps getting louder as time draws on. Andrew doesn’t get swept up in it.

Neil turns around and lifts his eyes from his red palm, finding Andrew through the commotion of Matt and Kevin running at him. His eyes are wide; Andrew thinks if they were any wider he might be able to make out the ocean of blue hiding behind the brown of his contacts. The surprise plays on his face clearer and more honest than Andrew’s ever seen him. He’s shocked, Andrew thinks, over being handed the trust of an unlikely toss. It was reckless, since they’ve never tried it before, and he expects a few stern words from Wymack and Kevin once they’re off the court for longer than a time out, but for now, he’s going to sit in this moment.

Andrew can hide behind the logic of Neil being wide open all he likes – his brain still knows what this uncommon feeling in his chest is.

A perfect hit. A moment of shared trust.

Andrew walks up, and Neil pushes past Matt to meet him halfway. There are several dozen snide things Andrew could say about Neil’s style and obsessive focus, about how he shouldn’t be blaming anyone but himself for the lack of tosses he’s received thus far in the game. But he just cocks his head instead, enraptured by how Neil has managed to stack yet another mystery on top of all of his lies. One more thing for Andrew to unfold.

“How was it?” he asks.

The Foxes fall strangely silent, as if the miracle play never happened. They never expect Andrew to care or offer to change. They don’t know him at all.

Neil curls his fingers into a fist. “Perfect.” This is the first time they’ve said anything to each other since Columbia. The wild grin that takes over Neil’s face is worse than the drugs, and Andrew both wants it to stop and isn’t ready for the withdrawal.

He turns his gaze away, towards the net and what lies beyond. The Cavaliers look confused but unshaken, probably chalking up the spike as nothing more than a desperate stroke of luck – the rash motions of an animal backed into a corner. It’s their turn to receive anyway, so there’s no doubt they believe they can get the point back. They may be right. Maybe it was a fluke. But the ball has never felt better in Andrew’s hands.

The first referee chirps his whistle, and the Foxes make their way back to their positions, rotating once clockwise. Matt’s up to serve, but Andrew’s not going to look. He’s watching the Cavaliers, wondering where Matt’s serve is going to go and who’s going to spike after the setter gets the ball. He knows his block height isn’t going to be good enough, probably not even for a one touch, but Nicky’s in the front now and Neil’s steady as a fucking hurricane in the center of the court.

“Nice serve!” Dan calls, back on the court after Aaron swapped out. They won’t need a libero right now, and Dan’s good defense for a chance ball.

The whistle blows, and Matt’s serve goes over clean.

Andrew’s fighting his drug-fucked brain, but it’s not hard to think when he’s on the court, when the ball’s in play and everything slows down to a speed he can process. Volleyball can be surprising, but it’s systematic – three chances to touch the ball, a receive, a toss, a spike. He’s going to have to work on his vertical if he wants to stay on the court as a setter beyond this game.

Does he want that?

The Cavaliers receive Matt’s powerful jump serve, and he broke their pattern but the ball still goes up. The players connect for a quick.

Neil shoots from the center towards the left corner, plowing towards Nicky as he follows the ball like he’s magnetized. And christ, he’s fast. He’s up in the air before Nicky, fingers splayed and arms stretching.

“One touch!” Neil shouts.

How, Andrew isn’t sure. He hasn’t even moved yet.

“Chance ball!” Kevin goes in for the receive, hitting it up cleanly towards Andrew, who moves into position in just a couple of steps. With all three of the Foxes’ powerhouse spikers on the back line, the blockers for the Cavaliers are more spread out along the net, preparing to read block, perhaps even preparing for a back attack. Nicky’s in a good position for a quick and has one blocker on him, so the chances of it getting past are good, but the Cavaliers keep up defense even on the back line, so the chances of it getting picked up again are also good.

Andrew looks at Kevin and wonders if he could fight his way into a point from the back line with a hand he hasn’t fully mastered yet. 

But it’s Neil who sings to him again, his body cutting air as he runs along the net in search of a place free of blockers. He’s already a blur in Andrew’s peripheral, just a flash of orange and black planting his feet and jumping as high as he can. There’s no one marking him, so there’s no reason to try so hard, but Andrew doubts Neil knows anything except fighting, except being dialed all the way up for as long as he can sustain his stamina.

Maybe the last toss was a fluke.

Andrew wants to know for sure.

The ball settles against his fingertips, and he bends his hands until the ball is cradled completely. The motion doesn’t even last the span of two breaths, but he thinks he can feel each fingertip as they settle against the synthetic leather. Neil’s nearing the peak of his jump, and no one’s ready. Andrew lets the ball fly.

It’s not perfect – he’s new to this, and no amount of thinking can make his hands work perfectly every time. But he knows where Neil is, and he knows how to get the ball there. It’s low and a little short. Neil sees that, too, and in the fraction of a second he has to hit the ball before it goes flying into the stands, Neil adjusts his arm and smacks the ball down.

He lands, and his hands are already in fists, a delighted yell rising from deep in his lungs and ripping out of his throat. He whirls on Andrew and he looks wild, hair sticking to his forehead and temples, teeth bared.

Goosebumps slide along Andrew’s arms and down his spine. His heart jumps like he’s in freefall. A pipe dream. A new drug. That’s all Neil is. But he jogs over to Andrew and refuses to let him come up for air.

“It’s so fast,” he says, a safe distance away, but he’s shining so brightly that Andrew feels like he should take a step back, anyway.

He holds his ground. “Nice cover.” Most spikers would have been able to grab a poor set, so Neil’s hand connecting with the ball isn’t anything to fawn over, but the speed factor makes it more impressive. This is Andrew’s only concession.

“Neil!” Nicky runs up and barrels into him, excitedly wrapping around him as if that was the winning point. They have another ten to go; Nicky needs to calm down.

Andrew turns away, wondering if his shaky body is going to last the whole game. It’s his turn to serve after the next play, but he’s never practiced so they’ll have to give up that point. Then he’ll be on the back line, and his training as a libero is going to hinder him being able to set, because if he gets the receive up they’re fucked.

Why does he care?

“Andrew.”

He turns back, looking at Neil, who managed to shove his way out of Nicky’s enthusiasm.

The look in his eyes is as greedy as it is deadly. “Let’s do that again.”


End file.
